


making a bed

by mornen



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Childhood, Children, Gen, Short, it's short but it's one of my favourite things I've written, mostly posting this here for easy access
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornen/pseuds/mornen
Summary: While crossing the Grinding Ice, Fingolfin reflects on a moment in childhood with his half-brother
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	making a bed

The wind is sharp, bitter; it falls over Ñolofinwë like a sheet. When he was a child, he would lie on the end of the bed when his parents made it. They would throw the billowing sheet over him and laugh as it covered him, and he would laugh too.

Fëanáro would be standing by the door, watching, calling Mother ‘Indith’ in his soft, fast voice. Father would explain later when he’d asked too many times that Fëanáro had a different mother, but she had died, and they all missed her. And Ñolofinwë missed her too, even if he had never met her. Even if he would never have lived if she had not died.

Fëanáro did not live with them. He liked to travel, Father would say. Fëanáro would come on visits with his bright eyes and calloused fingers. He would lean against Father as if he were trying to crawl inside of him. Sometimes he would break down and lie, shuddering, in the next room in the low light of Telperion.

Once, Fëanáro sat on the edge of the bed as Father made it. Mother was not there, but Father was, and he threw the sheet over both of them. It rose up, white linen caught silver and glowing, and then fell back down, covering them. It was wrinkled and folded over their hair like crumbling crowns. Fëanáro looked at him, and his eyes were quicksilver. But he smiled.

Now the wind falls over Ñolofinwë like a sheet, covering him, and snow crowns his hair.


End file.
